Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
T he two small casseroles in Essie’s oven filled the entire house with such delicious aromas that her stomach started to growl. With a laugh, she looked down at her midsection. “That’s not for you.”
Frank was on a business call in the small spare room that served as his office.
Even with the door shut, she could hear snippets of the conversation, none of which made any sense to her.
Something about projected units and upcoming reports and, sporadically, she heard Italy mentioned, but that she understood.
The company had just opened a branch there and was experiencing some growing pains.
The good kind, Frank had reassured her.
But it was a reminder that he had enough going on without Essie bringing up Sophie’s nonsense.
That’s what it was, too. Nonsense. So what if she didn’t like Essie.
Sophie didn’t live with them, wasn’t Essie’s responsibility in any way, shape, or form, and Essie didn’t have to even see Sophie except for the occasional holiday.
Which meant it would probably be Thanksgiving before Essie had to be in the same room as her stepdaughter. The plan at the moment, although nothing had been finalized, was to spend Thanksgiving at the cabin.
Essie poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat at the kitchen counter with her phone to wait out the cooking timer.
Sophie and Chad would come up to the cabin with their partners, whoever that might be for Sophie at the time. For Chad, it meant his wife, Tasha, and their two little ones. Frank would have the usual local place cater the meal.
It was exactly what they’d done last year. And it had been nice. But Liliana hadn’t come. She had her husband to think about and her two kids. It was too much for them to do all that traveling, especially when it would mean Mateo having to work his schedule out.
Mat, Liliana’s husband, was a police officer who hoped to soon make detective. Essie doubted he’d want to ask for any special favors around a holiday.
What would be nice was if this year, she and Frank could have Thanksgiving with Liliana and Mat and Essie’s two grandkids, who were now Frank’s step-grandkids.
She glanced toward the office. She knew he was occupied with his business and Thanksgiving was a long way off yet, but if the opportunity presented itself to plant the seed, Essie was going to take it.
Then when Italy was fully operational and Frank didn’t have so much on his mind, she’d bring it up in earnest.
Of course, Sophie would probably hate not spending Thanksgiving with her father. She’d undoubtedly see that as another attempt by Essie to ruin her life, or create a rift between them or whatever it was Sophie thought Essie was doing.
Essie sighed, mentally exhausted by it all. More and more it seemed like Sophie was one of those people who thrived on drama. Who could only function when she was the target, however real or perceived, of some alleged slight. The young woman apparently loved being the victim.
Essie had been around students like that. Most of them from well-to-do families where getting attention from the parents required creative thinking.
Sophie was a classic case of spoiled rich kid. Essie hated thinking that way about her husband’s child, but it was true.
How had Chad not turned out that way? He was so much like Frank. Chad never met a problem that wasn’t fixable. Trouble rolled off his back like water off a duck.
Sophie absorbed trouble like a sponge. Was she her mother’s child? Essie had never known Stacia, but Chad and Sophie (and sometimes Frank) spoke of her as though she’d been a saint.
Essie was starting to wonder how a kind, practical man like Frank and a supposed saint could raise a child like Sophie, who clearly thought the world owed her something.
Was it possible Stacia wasn’t the angel Essie had been led to believe? It wasn’t unusual for people to treat the deceased as though they’d walked on water when they’d been alive. She saw it in Liliana, who refused to let anyone say a bad word about her father.
Not that there was much bad to say about Carlos. Although he had snored and sometimes cheated at Uno.
There was no good way to get an answer about Stacia. Chad would be upset by such a question, as would Frank, most likely. He’d probably be straight with her, though. Asking Sophie would be an exercise in futility and only serve to create more drama.
It was best to probably leave things alone.
Before Essie was even aware of what she was doing, she’d opened up the TikTok app on her phone and was swiping through her feed.
Unsurprisingly, Sophie popped up.
Today, she was wearing a tight black denim dress, it seemed with a push-up bra, based on how much cleavage was visible. With it, she wore cream and black Chanel espadrilles, and an ivory and black Chanel necklace. A camelia, the signature Chanel flower, was pinned in her blond hair.
The Chanel things had come from Stacia. Essie knew that much. She turned up the volume. “Another beautiful day here in South Beach. I’m headed out to lunch at Arrista with my squad.”
She fluttered her lashes and her fingernails. “We’re going to have some cocktails and practice being baddies.” She laughed. “Not that we need the practice.”
She did a little half turn to each side.
“What do you think about my look today?” Her expression turned serious, and she touched the Chanel necklace.
“I’m keeping my mom close to me today. I miss her so much.
I think about all the events she’s not going to get to be a part of in my life, but having her amazing things with me, like this killer necklace, makes it feel like she’s still with me in a small way. ”
Her smile returned, softer and just a touch sad. “I was so blessed to have a mother with such great taste. I hope I make her proud.” She kissed her fingers and raised them to the sky.
Then she leaned in like she was about to share a secret. “Who knows? Maybe if I keep representing my mother’s classic sense of style and taste, some of it will rub off on you-know-who.”
Again, she laughed like she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Barely able to get words out, she managed, “I think we all know that’s never going to happen.”
She wiggled her pointy French tips at the camera. “Toodles.”
The video ended.
Feeling hurt and sad, Essie closed the app. What was wrong with the way she dressed? She was wearing white capris and a loose chiffon top in a green and white leaf print. Both had come from Amazon. No, that wasn’t true. The capris had probably come from Walmart.
But what was wrong with that? Did clothes have to cost a thousand dollars to be wearable? That was ridiculous.
When she’d been a principal, her wardrobe had been three things: professional, practical, and mostly machine washable.
She’d learned the hard way that working with middle-schoolers meant you never knew what the day would bring.
She’d even kept a pair of sneakers in her office, along with a change of clothes, just in case.
She’d used that change of clothes more than once. Like the time Tim Branford had slipped in the hall and cracked his head open. She’d held him and comforted him while a teacher had gone to get the nurse.
By the time the nurse had arrived, Essie’s petal pink pants had been splotched with blood.
Or the time she’d had to intervene in a food fight in the cafeteria on spaghetti day. That had been the wrong day to wear a white jacket. Lesson learned.
The oven timer went off at the same time that her phone vibrated.
She ignored the phone to take the casseroles out.
It was her famous French onion chicken casserole and although she’d made it many times, she wanted it to be perfect for Althea, since one of them was going to her. The other was for Essie and Frank.
Cooking for someone you didn’t know and wanted to impress was a daunting task, but Essie was up to it. This casserole was tried and true, and always a hit whenever she made it.
She set it on the stove top, took the oven mitts off, and went to check her phone.
A text from Liliana. She did it again.
I know, Essie texted back. I saw it.
Flaunting that Chanel crap like it means she’s somehow better than everyone else. That her mother was better. I cannot stand her.
Essie shook her head. Liliana was more upset by this than she was.
Liliana went on. You know designer clothes don’t make you anything but poorer.
Essie smiled. Does that mean you don’t like the Gucci purse I bought you for your birthday?
No, I love that purse. You know what I mean.
Still smiling, Essie nodded. I do.
You really need to show Frank what she’s up to.
I think it’s best to let him find out on his own, sweetheart. It’s not hurting me in any way. Not entirely true, but Essie wasn’t bothered enough to open a can of worms over it. I have to run. I’m taking a casserole to a friend’s house. Her husband is in the hospital.
French onion chicken?
Essie sent a smiley face back.
Lucky. But I hope her husband’s okay.
Me, too. Love you.
Love you, too.
Essie put the lid on the casserole dish, then packed it into her heat-resistant carrying bag. She’d be better off focusing on the here and now and not worrying about the future.
But that was easier said than done with a stepdaughter like Sophie.